


How Many

by cathalin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-09
Updated: 2008-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/pseuds/cathalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney actually does know how many times John's almost died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many

**Author's Note:**

> Tag to Prodigal.

The thing is, he'd lied.

"Seven," he says, between one bite of jello and the next. Just like that, blurted into the midst of a conversation about Pegasus childrearing customs.

Everyone at the table turns their heads and stares at him. Teyla has an eyebrow arched. Ronon's mouth is quirked upwards. Rodney can't look at Sheppard, so he doesn't know what his expression is.  
  
Rodney figures it's probably not that unusual for him to blurt out random numbers, but it probably _is_ unusual that he follows it up with, "Or twenty-three, if you count things that should be counted but maybe aren't overtly. That."

The faces at the table blur, and he stands up suddenly, knocking over his second jello cup and a mug of coffee. "Excuse me, I--" and he's walking out of the Mess Hall, almost running, heart pounding. Fucking _idiot_! What, his subconscious chooses this moment to assert itself and make a fool of him in front of the first people whose opinions he's ever really cared about?

He's jogging blindly, no idea where he is, when a hand grabs his arm, pulls him around, then another grabs his other arm when he tries to shake it off.

"Rodney." And fuck, fuck, it's Sheppard. Of course. Because his humiliation isn't complete; his sudden self-awareness has to come with the awkward realization, the embarrassed silences, the pulling back, the sad attempts at continued friendship. All in one hour.

"Fine!" he snarls. "Yes. And I'm sorry! But I didn't know. So can we just skip all the we can still be friends and pathetic attempts at--"

"Rodney!" John's shaking him now, actually _shaking_ him. "Breathe!"

Rodney closes his eyes, because _fuck_ , he'd thought John would be kinder, not force Rodney to face him and have this conversation. "Okay," he says. "Fine." He sighs and opens his eyes.

John's got his shoulders held firmly in his hands, and his forehead is wrinkled and his eyes intense on Rodney. It's a questioning look, so if John hasn't figured it out yet he will any second, and oh god could the earth just swallow Rodney now? After what seems like endless moments, John tips his head to the side and looks at Rodney hard, then finally says hoarsely, "You. Twenty-one. If you count Second Childhood and the Ascension thing."

It's so far from what Rodney's expecting to hear, he's momentarily bereft of words. "What?"

"I said." John looks sideways at the floor, then swallows visibly and brings his eyes to Rodney's again. He whispers, "I said, me, too."

"Oh," Rodney says, "Oh." He breathes for a moment, and then reaches for John, reeling him in, pulling him into the embrace Rodney wanted earlier today.

John's warm and alive under his hands, and he's clinging to Rodney in a way that says yes, he's counted every time, too.

John's arms are so tight around him Rodney can hardly breathe, and his own hands are pressing John to him, crushing him hard against him. "I can't," Rodney whispers into the hot skin of John's neck, "I don't think I can--"

John breathes in harshly and turns his head, says choked against Rodney's cheek, "I can't either, I, I--" and it's a kiss, so soft Rodney might have dreamed it, but it _was_ , John's mouth tender on Rodney's face.

So Rodney turns, just those inches, three-point-four; it's one-point-six seconds to cover the distance and slide his lips to where John's are.

They hover, point-eight seconds, touch mouths softly, point-seven. They pull back and breathe into each other, just breathe, both of their brains undoubtedly calculating the risks, the rewards, weighing them up, deciding.

 _Fuck that_ , Rodney thinks, as he pulls John's mouth back on his, presses in with his tongue, makes it irrevocable. That's all just numbers anyway. The truth lies somewhere else, in the hard press of their bodies against each other, the look in John's eyes every time he's gone on a suicide mission, the ache in Rodney's chest when John's had to go.

All unknowing, some part of Rodney's brain has remembered every time, kept a running total, created an algorithm for measuring each and every risk.

He'd lied. Numbers are how Rodney experiences the world; they're what Rodney _does_. He'd known how many times.

Every single one.


End file.
